The Poetical Works of Mrs. Leprohon Part 25

Ah, believe me, fair Edith, with me 'twas not so, And I would I had known this but six months ago; I would not have wasted on false, luring smiles, On graces coquettish and cold, studied wiles, True love that would give thee a life for thy life, And guarded and prized thee, a fond, worshipped wife.

Oh I thou'rt pleased now to whisper my manners are good, And my smiles such as maiden's heart rarely withstood, My age just the thing--nor too young nor too old-- My character faultless, naught lacking but gold, And to-day might I claim e'en thy beauty so rare If good Uncle John would but make me his heir.

Many thanks, my best Edith! I now understand For what thou art willing, to barter thy hand: A palace-like mansion with front of brown stone, In some splendid quarter to fashion well known, _Sevres_ china, conservatory, furniture rare, Unlimited pin-money, phaeton and pair.

It is well, gentle lady! The price is not high With a figure like thine, such a hand, such an eye, Most brilliant accomplishments, statuesque face, Manners, carriage _distingue_ and queenlike in grace,-- Nothing wanting whatever, save only a heart, But, instead, double portions of cunning and art.

Ah! well for me, lady, I have learned in good time To save myself misery--you, sordid crime.

I will garner the love that so lately was thine For one who can give me a love true as mine; But learn ere we part, Edith, peerless and fair, _Uncle John has just died and has left me his heir!_

VOICES OF THE HEARTH.

TO MY HUSBAND ON OUR WEDDING-DAY.

I leave for thee, beloved one, The home and friends of youth, Trusting my hopes, my happiness, Unto thy love and truth; I leave for thee my girlhood's joys, Its sunny, careless mirth, To bear henceforth my share amid The many cares of earth.

And yet, no wild regret I give To all that now I leave, The golden dreams, the flow'ry wreaths That I no more may weave; The future that before me lies A dark and unknown sea-- Whate'er may be its storms or shoals, I brave them all with thee!

I will not tell thee now of love Whose life, ere this, thou'st guessed, And which, like sacred secret, long Was treasured in my breast; Enough that if thy lot be calm, Or storms should o'er it sweep, Thou'lt learn that it is woman's love, Unchanging, pure and deep.

In this life's sunshine gild thy lot, Bestowing wealth and pride, Its light enjoying, I shall stand, Rejoicing, at thy side; But, oh! if thou should'st prove the griefs That blight thy fellow-men, 'Twilt be my highest, dearest right, To be, love, with thee then.

And thou, wilt thou not promise me Thy heart will never change, That tones and looks, so loving now, Will ne'er grow stern and strange?

That thou'lt be kind, whatever faults Or failings may be mine, And bear with them in patient love, As I will bear with thine?

TO MY FIRST BORN.

Fair tiny rosebud! what a tide Of hidden joy, o'erpow'ring, deep, Of grateful love, of woman's pride, Thrills through my heart till I must weep With bliss to look on thee, my son, My first born child--my darling one!

What joy for me to sit and gaze Upon thy gentle, baby face, And, dreaming of far distant days, With mother's weakness strive to trace Tokens of future greatness high, On thy smooth brow and l.u.s.trous eye.

What do I wish thee, darling, say?

Is it that lordly mental power That o'er thy kind will give thee sway, Unchanging, full, a glorious dower For those whose minds may grasp its worth, True rulers and true kings of earth?

Or would I ask for thee that fire Of wond'rous genius, great divine, The spell that charms the poet's lyre, Till like a halo it will shine Around a name praised, honored, sung, In distant climes by many a tongue?

Ah, no! my child, with such vain themes I will not mar thy quiet rest Nor wish ambition's restless dreams Infused into thy tranquil breast; Too soon will manhood's weight of care O'ercloud that waxen brow so fair.

For thee, my Babe, I only pray Thou'lt live to bless thy parents' love, To be their hope, their earthly stay, And gaining grace from heaven above, Tread in the path the good have trod, True to thy country and thy G.o.d!

GIVEN AND TAKEN.

The snow-flakes were softly falling Adown on the landscape white, When the violet eyes of my first born Opened unto the light; And I thought as I pressed him to me, With loving, rapturous thrill, He was pure and fair as the snow-flakes That lay on the landscape still.

I smiled when they spoke of the weary Length of the winter's night, Of the days so short and so dreary, Of the sun's cold cheerless light-- I listened, but in their murmurs Nor by word nor thought took part, For the smiles of my gentle darling Brought light to my home and heart.

Oh! quickly the joyous springtime Came back to our ice-bound earth, Filling meadows and woods with sunshine, And hearts with gladsome mirth, But, ah! on earth's dawning beauty There rested a gloomy shade, For our tiny household blossom Began to droop and fade.

And I, shuddering, felt that the frailest Of the flowers in the old woods dim Had a surer hold on existence Than I dared to hope for him.

In the flush of the summer's beauty On a sunny, golden day, When flowers gemmed dell and upland, My darling pa.s.sed away.

Now I chafed at the brilliant sunshine That flooded my lonely room, Now I wearied of bounteous Nature, So full of life and bloom; I regretted the wintry hours With the snow-flakes falling fast, And the little form of my nursling With his arms around me cast.

They laid his tiny garment In an attic chamber high, His coral, his empty cradle, That they might not meet my eye; And his name was never uttered, What e'er each heart might feel, For they wished the wound in my bosom Might have tune to close and heal.

It has done so thanks to that Power That has been my earthly stay, And should you talk of my darling, I could listen now all day, For I know that each pa.s.sing minute Brings me nearer life's last sh.o.r.e, And nearer that glorious Kingdom Where we both shall meet once more!

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

The world had chafed his spirit proud By its wearing, crushing strife, The censure of the thoughtless crowd Had touched a blameless life; Like the dove of old, from the water's foam, He wearily turned to the ark of home.

Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart, Had toiled for many a day, With body and spirit, and patient art, Like mists had melted away; And o'er day-dreams vanished, o'er fond hopes flown, He sat him down to mourn alone.

No, not alone, for soft fingers rest On his hot and aching brow, Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed While a sweet voice whispers low: "Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true, And shall I not share thy sorrows too?"

Vain task to resist the loving gaze That so fondly meets his own, Revealing a heart that cares for praise From him and him alone; And though censure and grief upon him pall, Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.

What though false friends should turn aside, Or chill with icy look; What though he meet the pitying pride, The proud heart ill can brook; There are depths of love in one gentle heart, Whose faith with death alone will part.

Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom, For a talisman hast thou 'Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom, 'Gainst scornful look or brow-- _Her_ heart is a high and a holy throne Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.

Kindly return her tender gaze, Press closely that little hand, Whisper fond words and soothing praise-- They are ever at thy command; It is all the harvest she asks to reap In return for love as the ocean deep.

A BOY'S HOPES.